The Forbidden Romance
by mizo ai no shi
Summary: HarrySnape. Harry has a crush on Snape. What happens when Snape starts to get feelings for Harry too? Slash warning!
1. Chapter 1

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Dreary Tuesday Mornings Make For Hot Thursday Nights

Harry's POV

Harry woke up, it was an dreary Tuesday morning. It was cloudy and threatening to rain. 'Just great,' thought Harry. 'My luck, I'll be caught in the rain for sure.'

He slowly dragged himself out of bed, not bothering to straighten the sheets, and made his way toward the bathroom. Finally reaching his destination, he began to pull off his clothes. Settling into the bath, he began to relax, thinking about his love interest. His potions teacher, Severus Snape.

Harry tried to imagine that Snape was there with him, relaxing in the very same bath water. He imagined Snape's hand reaching for his own before abruptly ending his fantasy.

'This is disgusting,' he thought. 'I shouldn't thinking about him like that. Why can't I just fall for Hermione instead?' Tears threatened to fall from his emerald colored eyes before hearing a knock at the door.

"Hurry up, Harry!" he heard Ron call through the door. "We'll be late for class."

"I'll be there in a minute, Ron!" he called back.

He lifted himself out of the tub and wrapped a small towel around his waist. He strutted out of the bathroom to his trunk and pulled out his robe. He then proceeded to dress himself. He then joined Ron outside the room and they then walked to breakfast where they met up with Hermione. The three headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry waited in anticipation for his next class: double potions.

Snape's POV

The class began brewing their difficult potions. Snape sat behind his desk reading _Witch Weekly_, which he hid behind a large potions volume. He scanned the class, a menacing look plastered upon his face, daring the students to ask questions. It was then that he noticed Potter.

The boy had been sending him strange looks recently, ranging from lust-filled, to desperate, to dreamy.

'Perhaps I'm just imagining things," Snape thought.

He let his mind wander off.

__

Harry smirked, and strode over to Severus. Severus' mysterious black eyes met with Harry's jade colored eyes, and passion ensued. Snape felt a warm, strong hand grasp his shoulder. He looked up, surprised, as another hand firmly planted itself on his thigh.

"Severus…" a husky voice whispered into his ear, and Snape shivered as Harry's breath touched his sensitive neck.

'What was that?' Snape looked at Harry, the perpetrator, in shock, before realizing that the entire scene had taken place in his mind. 'Never again… He's a _student, _for crying out loud.'

Snape quickly returned to his magazine, then casting another look at Harry, and realized the boy was staring intently at him, before Harry looked away with a blush.

'Blasted hormones. Have all these children riled up with no place to go.' Snape thought, as another voice in his mind answered, 'Well, there's always the bedroom…'

He involuntarily shuddered at the thought of Potter in his bedroom.

Harry's POV

Harry frowned at himself. 'Stupid, you're so obvious. He knows, he _has_ to know.'  
  
"Harry, pay attention!" Ron hissed into his ear, surprising him.  
  
Harry resumed cutting his ingredient into even slices, while Ron stirred the potion and watched Harry in apprehension.  
  
It was half way through the class which signaled the time when Snape would periodically critique their potions. Usually this meant an insulting, to everyone except the Slytherins.  
  
Harry could practically feel Snape's eyes digging into the recesses of his soul. He tried to slice evenly, but Ron became too afraid that he may take his finger in the process. Harry was left to stirring the potion, an easy job, one that could also be done without paying attention.

"Potter!" A voice exclaimed in his ear.

Harry whirled around scattering droplets of potion on himself, Ron, and Snape. His delicate mouth formed an 'O', and his face turned a bright crimson.

"Harry, what in the hell do you think you're doing?!" Ron shouted, as the hot liquid burned a hole into his already shabby robes.

"I… um… Sorry?" Harry managed to get out, hurriedly trying to wipe excess potion of the desk.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for daydreaming in class and ruining my best robes, Potter. I do expect you to clean up after class." Snape said, as the bell rang.

The students filed out, and Ron sent a sympathetic look to Harry as he left. Little did he know, that this was the moment Harry was looking forward to.

Author's Note: This idea got in my head and I just could not get it out. Aren't Harry and Snape so hot together? hands out Harry and Snape plushies to large crowd reading story Review and you get a cookie! Ack, my lack of goth-ish-ness. I'm losing my touch and it's all Snape's fault.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Hey guys. Out of boredom recently, I decided to check up on this story and was surprised to find the review numbers to be alarmingly high. To be honest, this whole thing started when a friend and I had nothing to do. This was, of course, a very long time ago (I don't even speak to this person anymore). Anyway, she wrote most of this story, and here I am feeling guilty that quite a number of you have added this to your favorites. el shocko! And so, I suppose that I should continue this. However, things will change. I write in first person, and, more importantly, I have no idea who over half of the characters are in this series (I'm not even sure what number book the series is on) and thus, I'll pretty much be referring to Snape and Harry. Perhaps Ron (who I call 'that red-haired kid) and Hermione (I like to call her Ms. I-Stuck-My-Finger-In-An-Electrical-Socket) because I know vaguely who they both are. So, you know, if I mess up the facts of the story, or mention someone who got killed during the course of the actual story, don't kill me.

I have known worse things in my life than infatuation (I don't say love because I don't step into that territory, and, it being a thing that I denied existed for years, it sounds wrong when slipping off my lips), but most problems I've encountered have been easily placed in the open. After all, people accept that you're forced to deal with the psychotic tendencies of a madman far quicker than they are the fact that you've fallen in some twisted sort of love (infatuation) with a man twice, or perhaps thrice your own age. So I keep the words behind barred lips, and like enraged or fright-driven prisoners, they pound against cage walls; I find myself near exhausted and nauseous with uncomfortable shame.

And so today, after perhaps weeks or months or more of this unworded feeling, he tells me to stay after class and I think that I cannot look him in the eyes, when I am the object that he forces his disdain upon. I don't believe he's ever looked that highly upon me, though now especially. I don't seem like myself anymore, and, coming across as a poor actor who cannot easily try on his new skin, I am sure he can see the secrets shining through the cracks. I think he notices. I think they all notice.

"Potter, you've ruined my best robes, and the classroom is in quite a state of disorder. What do you have to say for yourself?" This is Snape speaking, his voice loud and heavy in the air.

"Sorry, sir."

"That's it?"

"I'll replace the robes when I can. I don't exactly have the funds…"

"See that you do that."

"Yes, sir."

"And what about the classroom?"

I get to work on cleaning it without a word. There isn't much point in speaking when I know I have nothing worthwhile to say. And so I clean.

"You've seemed quite distracted in class as of late. Are you grasping the material?"

"Somewhat. I've been having difficulty sleeping recently. It makes studies a little harder." I don't tell him that he's the cause of my insomnia. That my dreams of his roaming hands and wandering lips and casual words keep my eyes open late into the night.

He nods in response.

"Perhaps some one-on-one?"

I'm shocked, and I fumble for a response. It comes out rather eloquent. "What?"

"Some extra help, Potter."

"Uh huh?"

"With potions."

"Of course." There's a shaky smile and I nod. I my mind, he looks much better when he's smiling. I don't think I've ever seen this.

"Is tomorrow around seven good?"

I stop my speech and I'm this close to saying, "It's a date."

At night, my mind wanders and I am far too tired to keep it still. His hands, Snape's hands, trace lazy patterns onto my skin while we bask in the midnight afterglow. When we're like this, we're on a first name basis. And we body-worship each other slowly during the night hours and everything feels like film in slow motion. Sometimes if I'm feeling bold, he says "I love you". Sometimes if I'm feeling bolder, I break down and admit "I love you too".

With him, here alone in the corners of my darkened mind-scene, hands have never felt so beautiful, kisses so sweet, love so true.

**Author's Note (Revisited): **I have no idea where this is going. They'll hook up. That's a given. Maybe they'll screw like rabbits later. Meh.


	3. Chapter 3

When I was younger I never much believed in love and thought it rather stupid and silly. I was not a child of the highest self esteem and optimism and I always found it much easier to believe merely in chemicals aiming at survival than the fact that (most likely) I would leave the world as alone and empty feeling as I had been for the majority of my life.

Snape (Severus, in my mind during all those late night hours) is an easy man to love (be infatuated with) because he is a man I'll never be with and who wants nothing to do with me and so I can eternally watch from a distance and know that nothing will ever happen. It's all right. And tonight I will stop by the classroom and he'll feed me information that I already have a loose grasp on and I will absorb the words whole for those times when I am alone and lonely and I can look for bits of love in between the spaces in his words, letters.

Ron accuses me of being spacey lately and I don't know how to reply to his questions anymore. It's not so much that I'm not paying attention as it is that I've nothing left of interest to say. He speaks of classes I don't take and teachers I don't care about and I sit silent and he wonders why.

At seven exactly I am at the door of Snape's classroom and I am feeling blushy and nervous and very, very young. I knock and a moment later _he's_ at the door and his eyes are half lidded with exhaustion.

There's a moment of silence, uncomfortable at best, before I question, "Sir?" and we're both brought back to the land of the living.

He says, "We'll be learning in my quarters. It's too damn cold in there and I don't much feel like dealing with it for any longer than necessary."

There is nothing much to say as our bodies drag through weary corridors and finally rest before the large wooden structure that is his door.

When we are inside we review all the things I already know and I don't bother to tell him that I'm merely distracted in his class and perhaps too numb to care all that much about my marks.

His body looks heavily weighted with exhaustion and suddenly he stops speaking and his gaze appears to be resting on something that I can't see.

"Aren't you ever just tired of all this?" he asks and I can see by all the lines of sleeplessness across his face that this is something he would not normally say.

"Of what exactly, sir?"

"Of everyone depending on you here? Or do you remain unaffected by repeatedly acting as everyone's savior?"

"I get a little tired, I suppose." I don't want to say that I hate this, that I want to rest, that some days I feel so tired that the thought of ever waking up feels painful.

"You don't want to leave ever?"

"There isn't much of anyplace to go." It's not something I want to say, but my mind seems affected by the same thing that compelled him to start this conversation in the first place.

Admitting this sort of thing, that there isn't much of anywhere where I truly belong is not something I tell much of anyone. It's not something I would be allowed to say back at home, it's not the sort of thing I would say here where everyone would tell me I was wrong, that I belong here even though I know I really don't.

He's looking at me and thinking something that his eyes won't show. But his gaze is softer than usual and I find his vulnerability to be beautiful.

He says, "You don't look as if you've really been sleeping well."

"Excuse me for saying, sir, but I believe the same could be said for you."

"I suppose. Perhaps it's something in the air?" A small smile settles across his face and I forget how to breathe.

"I suppose it's too late for you to get back to your dorms without getting into trouble?"

"Perhaps." I manage a somewhat-smile at this. "But it's nothing I haven't done before."

"It wouldn't be fair really, to have you come here for tutoring and have you get in trouble for it."

I don't know what to say at this so I settle for silence.

"I guess you can stay here tonight then." His words come out slowly, like poorly acted lines. "You can take the bed then.".

"I couldn't. It's yours and you look as if you could use a good night's sleep."

"It's a king," he says. When I remain unmoving he adds in, "You won't even know I'm there."

But I know that I will.

**Author's Note:** If there are spelling errors, then I'm sorry, but it's almost three in the freaking morning. I get the feeling no one's in character, but to be honest, when is anyone in character in fanfiction? I mean, I highly doubt Harry and Snape would hook up otherwise, but hey, when has that stopped anyone else? I guess teachers don't often ask their students to sleep with them (which is unfortunate, because I've got a pretty neat German teacher), but I don't know how else to run this story. I don't know what crazy mythological creatures have been thrown into this little world of Harry Potter, but I sure do know that these two crazy kids won't get together by flying dragons or magic spells. Gosh, I sure do babble a lot. Anywho, sorry that the updating is so slow for this, but I am busy as hell (at least in the daytime, and I enjoy sleep, reading, and working on real writing as opposed to wizards.) And, I guess that it doesn't help that I really know practically nothing about Harry Potter. When I think of the word 'potter', all I can think of is this kid who has that last name who is not bothered by being soaked with rabbit pee for hours at a time and who also enjoys singing while wearing my clothes. He's something else.


	4. Chapter 4

**Brief Author's Note Because I End Up Skipping The First Paragraph If It Is Not There When I Read A Story: **It's three-thirty in the morning. Whee.

How sweet apathy can be when it is so strongly needed. Now, it is far from my grasp and the tension from his body being so close scuttles clumsily back and forth between our night-clutched forms. He remains fairly unaffected it seems. My professors breaths curl in and out between softly parted lips and every cell in my body is jittering with unwanted energy. If I were made of weaker stuff, I fear I would go mad. And still, this boy (this man?) who has looked evil in the eye and brought it to its knees fears the sleep-drenched form beside him. Perhaps, I have already lost my mind. The madman is always sure of his sanity.

In this moment, my dreams and reality have met to form some demented hybrid. Here he is beside me, Snape, who I have dreamed of every night. Still, though, I am inhibited with my actions. If I wake from this, there shall be no sleep to precede it. And the consequences shall be harsher than anything I'd dare to dream.

As I fall asleep, I know that tonight I will not dare a dream filled sleep.

In the morning, when I dare to leave the sweetness of Morpheus' hold, he is still in bed with the dregs of sleep draped across his features. His gaze is on something far beyond what's in the room. When he notices my open eyes, he suggests I brush my hair before he leaves, though, with merriment in his eyes, says that it probably won't make much of a difference anyway. As he gets up, he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze and then makes his way out of the room. Not to overreact, but for a moment, I'm not sure if I've yet left sleep or not.

Ron says he's not sure what's gotten into me, but whatever it is, he most certainly doesn't like it.

"We're worried about you. Hermione and I, I mean. And I'm sure others are too. Whatever slump you're in, get out of it. We'll help if we can, but at this point, I'm not even sure if there's anything we can even do, especially if you won't give us a hint of what to do."

Hermione nods in the background, the look on her face suggesting that she thinks she knows what's wrong with me. She doesn't know, but let her believe anything she wants.

"I don't want you to worry about it, Harry," Hermione says, "but there have been rumors flying about that perhaps Voldemort will make his return soon. If that's what's got you like this, we'll be there for you. You know that. But I'm worried that you may not be prepared to fight if you're like this. Look, we're just as tired of this as you are." But she's not, and Ron's not. I can see the glimmer that lights up their eyes as their fame grows throughout the school. Perhaps the boundaries of their stardom reaches much farther than that; I wouldn't know.

I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. I've nothing left to say. And Ron and Voldemort and all the rest, I can't bring myself to care. I don't know why my mind remains stuck on Severus' face, or why its touch is merely fleeting when it comes to everything else. A heavy sigh on my part, I can't bring myself to care. Even if I could, I'm not sure that I'd want to.

**Author's Note:** Does anyone read these silly notes? I really hope that Voldemort is the bad guys name in Harry Potter. Deary me, if it isn't, then I'm sorry. It's Four-ten in the morning! So, I honestly have no idea what to do with this story. Ideas are welcome, if you have them. Random Note: Words I Don't Like: Gulp, Glutton, Smug. Feel free to share your least favorite words with me too. That'll be a real bonding moment for all of us.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** I may abuse grammar and the major plot developments of HP. It's 7 in the morning and I haven't slept in a long time. shrugs Review if you'd like. It's nice to see so many people have this on alert, and nicer still to know that this story gets between 500-1500 hits for each chapter. I know this doesn't rake in that many reviews, but whatever. I'm not going to be one of those people who demands a certain number of reviews before they update again. I think those people are bitches.

It has been a few weeks, more perhaps, since I last spoke to Ron. Since then, things have carried on as usual, with classes, tutoring, and strings of words that float about, are there and then are lost. The days have felt slow, gone fast, and have cycled about in much the same way as they are wont to do.

Ron could not be called happy when we last spoke. To say he was neutral would have even been to strong and false a term. He wasn't shaking with generic anger, but I saw the tightness of his jaw and thin layer of fury that glazed his eyes. He spoke loud, I listened well.

"I won't say I've done much to help and give myself some saintly credit by saying that. But I won't say you've made it easy, and I won't say there's much I felt I could do. I've tried to listen, and maybe that's all I could do. I don't know since you won't tell me. And that's all right."

He dulled a bit then and became soaked with numbness so as to be able to speak and say what he really wanted to. "I see what this has all come down to and at this point I've no choice but to accept it. Harry, you've become lifeless as far as I can see. You're not what you once were. If you're tired, then well, I'm tired too. All right. I understand that, but can't believe that this is what you've come to. I realize now that there's nothing to do and no point in facing danger. I've given up, Harry. I'd say I care, but I don't. I'd say something, if I felt I had anything left to say to you at all."

He walked away then, and we've not said a word since.

Hermione and he have since started at the very least, some mock-form of romance. I've watched; the way their eyes dart both shy and bold to and from each other's forms is enough to tell me. It's enough for me, I think, just to know they are happy.

They've since been upping security around here. I'm sorry, I was told recently, but the dorms here just aren't safe enough for you here. The messenger had been flushed from running at the time, embarrassed either to tell the news or nervous from my silence. I nodded. This was enough for him.

In the night they'd shuffled me out and shoved me into Snape's room. He was tired and no one bothered to explain until later that this would be the safest place for me to keep me safe from Voldemort. At the very least, one had said to me, you'll be able to catch up on learning your spells.

A while later, Severus informed me that indeed, Voldemort was coming and would be there the next coming night. You're not fully prepared, he'd said, and for that I am afraid.

In perhaps some paternal form of comfort, he'd kissed me on the forehead. In some lustful form of need, I'd kissed him on the lips. And he'd kissed back.

I'd begged that night (begged, the word sounds wretched in my mouth and yet I hold no bitterness for the act in and of itself) for him to love me. His head had cocked to the side and after a moment's hesitation, he'd said all right.

He'd been gentle with his body worship, either because of pity or out of love. Or perhaps necessity, thinking it was what I needed to walk into a battle that could very well take my life.

His hands had been large and soft and slow then and I'd quivered out of need, out of fear, out of a desperate and painful sort of love.

Perhaps he mistook my tears of grief as those of joy. Whatever the case, he kissed them quietly and did nothing more about them.

We'd combined as walls softly do in gentle corners to form a crooked whole.

They'll tell me tomorrow that Voldemort's arrived. I'll think then that I won't know what to do, and I'll mean that I don't care.

After, he wrapped me in his arms and in his body heat. I couldn't sleep as I my body laid flush against his, couldn't think as I heard his breaths deepen with sleep, as we wrapped ourselves tighter into some twisted puzzle.

And if he meant it when he said he said he loved me, I suppose I'll never know.

**Author's Note (Again!): **I suppose I'll end this chapter there. I suppose I might add more chapters after this if people want, unless people want the story to end there. I know I really suck at this whole 'Harry Potter' thing, since it really isn't something I'm at all familiar with, nor is it exactly my area of interest when it comes to writing and reading. shrugs I always got mad at the whole magic thing. And I suck at the whole following fads thing. The really intense people tend to scare me. Like the people who are really into LOTR and swear they know Elvin and want to marry a hobbit. eye twitch! If you're into that stuff, though, by all means, enjoy. I like classics, foreign literature and language, philosophy, and wearing saris and kimono out in public and around the house. I'd probably scare you too, but we're all nice people and would probably get along anyway. Even though we might be seizuring in fear in the process. Whatev's, me lovies, whatev's. I guess I'll put in another random question to help us bond: What strange things do you hate? For me, I would say: people who try and smell my bellybutton, puns, Dr. Phil, Dora the Explorer, polka music, and people who smell like butter. Much love, I'ma go to bed now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Okay, so it's been years and I still haven't read past the first two (maybe three?) books of Harry Potter. However many were out when I was in fifth grade. (I'm halfway through college at this point, so you do the math.) I checked the stats for the story today and found that people are actually still reading this thing (okay, like 20 or so this month so not much…) I felt sort of bad for abandoning it, even though the first chapter started out as a piece of trash my friend and I had fun writing. But now I see it's gotten reviews since I last checked and I feel bad for being one of those authors who just gives up (since, even though I mostly read poetry or old classics such as Proust, Austen, or Bronte, fanfiction's still a guilty pleasure for me. So sue me, I still like to sit down with a sappy Final Fantasy story before I work/study/sleep.) So I'm writing a little more, since I figure it's a good way to practice writing fiction, since I pretty much only write poetry now. And who knows, maybe I'll take a fiction writing course in college again. Okay, no one really cares about this author's note. I'll quit blabbering. Just keep in mind that it's been years, my writing style's changed, and I only read chapter 5 to get an idea of what's going on. Also, I only wikipedia'd (if Shakespeare could make up words, so can I) the ending to HP, and that was months ago, so I don't really remember what goes on. Snape doesn't die. That would end my story quickly, wouldn't it?

When Severus is finally well enough to speak and somewhat ambulatory, the first thing he says to me is this: "I figured you'd be the one to almost die, not me." He takes a leather-bound book out of his luggage, considers it for a moment, and turns to me. "_In Search of Lost Time_? Do you think I need to bring that along or not? Because I've read it before, but it's one of those books… you never know when you might want to read it again."

"The sentences go on for three pages. I can tell you right now, I never want to read it. No, don't try handing it to me, I don't want it. It's not good."

He laughs, and decides to pack it anyway. "I might want it," he says. "Besides, you should be a little fonder of this book. There were a few quotes in here that made me decide to start a relationship with you after all."

"Quotes? Which quotes?"

"Now you're interested? Thinking about giving this book another go? There is one quote, and I said it to myself frequently when I first started feeling more for you: 'If only for the sake of elegance, I try to remain morally pure.'"

I frown, "And what, exactly, are you trying to say? Are you going to start telling me again that you're too old for me, that you won't make me happy—"

"You're interrupting before I'm done. There's another quote: 'We become moral when we are unhappy.' So, listen, because I won't stroke your ego any more that I have to. I'm happy now. You make me happy. Though, you must admit, a bit immoral."

As he laughs, I try to look cross with him for his last few words, but the truth is that now, with Voldemort gone and the world a brighter place than it once was, I can't help but smile along with him and be grateful that he is still alive to tease me like so.

In the end, despite Ron and Hermione's confusion, I decide to leave Hogwarts with Severus. "I have this house in the country," he says, "that I think you would like. It's far away from everyone else that owls, magic, and potions are not a problem, but close enough to town that it's easy to go in and grab lunch. Interact with normal people for a bit."

"Normal people?" I ask. "Do you mean muggles?"

"Right," he says, looking away. "I mean muggles. Regardless, what I'm saying is that we can go."

"For a vacation, then?"

"No, Harry." He sighs. "I mean for a long time. I mean that I want you to live with me. For however long you want. Or if you don't want to, that's fine too—"

"Why?"

"Why, what?" It is his turn to look confused.

"I mean, you're saying that you want to live with me, but why? That's what I'm asking, is all."

"Because I love you, and I would like to live with you." He says this slowly, as if I need more time for the words to fully sink in.

"I—since when?"

"Since before, you know, whenever I last told you. I said it sometime before the final battle. You responded. Don't you remember?"

"I, well, I remember. I just wasn't sure you meant it. I mean, I don't want to offend you by saying so, but—"

"I meant it," he says. "I didn't know you had doubts. I thought we had reached an understanding."

"An understanding?" I laugh. "No! I'm not laughing at you. It's just that a while ago – a long while ago, believe me – Hermione made me read a book by Jane Austen. And whenever two people had 'reached an understanding,' so to speak, it meant they were going to get married. So hearing the phrase, I'm sorry, it just sounded, I don't know, strange, I guess."

"Well." He says this word very slowly, and I almost feel as if I can hear him think. "I wouldn't mind that either, really."

When I finally do tell Ron and Hermione about the relationship between Severus and myself, Ron's face is so mangled with confusion and a hint of nausea, that it appears as if I just told him I'd found human flesh to be a rather delicious delicacy.

"Oh God," he says, and leaves it at that for a while.

"Harry," Hermione says, "I haven't seen you so happy for so long. And yes, I know this isn't all because of Professor Snape! Though he's leaving Hogwarts, so not really a professor anymore, is he? Mister Snape, then? No, that sounds wrong too…"

"Hermione," Ron says, and with that and a quick squeeze to her hand, she is back on track again.

"Oh yes! So I know that the death of You-Know-Who is also a big relief, but I can see that Professor Snape is also making you very happy! And that, I think, is good enough for us. Right, Ron?"

"Oh, geeze, Hermione. Remind Harry that this is Snape he's talking about here. Remind Harry that this old—"

"Old, Ronald! Now, let us just say more experienced? Harry can learn so much from him! The ancient Greeks would have loved this kind of arrangement—Harry, you must tell me everything you learn. You'll know I'll want to hear all about everything you've learned."

"We'll miss, Harry. We'll be able to come visit, right? Without it being awkward? And you can visit us? Because we can always apparate. And now that you're fun again – ow, don't hit me, Hermione! You know it's true! – we'll have a blast together. And you'll play quidditch, right?"

"Of course, Ron, we'll play. And I'll tell you everything, Hermione. Maybe you can even talk to him. He likes all these classic books, and I can stand them, so I think he'd like someone to talk to now. He's more relaxed, since he doesn't have to spy now. I think he'd lend you his books if he asked.

Hermione's eyes light up, and she gets the look on her face that she always gets when she feels that she'll have a chance to learn something new, and it is beautiful. "Really?" she asks. "You think so?"

"Look, mate. You've already won her over to him. She thinks he's great already. If you tell me he's got a quidditch book or two to lend, then I might feel the same way too, Harry. But just maybe" He laughs. "He's still Snape."

When we reach the cottage for the first time, Severus fumbles with the keys a bit, and chuckle a bit before he tells me to be quiet, 'he hasn't had to use the damn things for quite a while now, so he can't remember which key goes to the front door, which goes to the back, etc.'

When he does finally get the door open, it protests with a loud creak, but opens anyway. The fire place is roaring, the furniture feels homey, and finally, after looking at the pictures adorning the nearby tables, I see he found a few pictures of the two of us (recently taken) to place around the room.

"You can change it however you like, but it's livable at least," he says. "I hope you like it." With a soft, sweet kiss to my temple he adds, "Welcome home, Harry."

**Author's Note Nummer Zwei: **Okay, so I feel like that's a proper ending then, right? Good enough? I don't know, you tell me. Also, as I've done with my previous chapters, I'll ask a question to everyone: What have you read recently that you think is good? I've been reading Bronte's "Jane Eyre" and I've been reading Robert Lowell, Robert Pinsky, and Derek Walcott's poetry. All very good reads!

Okay, so fiction writing isn't exactly my forte, but check out this one fanfiction—it's called "The Last Spy" and it's by Sylphides. She's a very good writer, and (when it's not finals/midterm time) she's very good about updating. It's a fantastic SnapexHermione story and definitely worth reading. She has other stories too, and they are also very good, but the one I mentioned is her main story. And you don't have to worry about her not updating. She updates pretty much every week. And if you read her story, remember to review it! She's worth reviewing.


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